


The Last of Us

by The_White_Rabbit42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Grace Corruption, Grace Kink, Implied Anal Sex, Implied Double Penetration, Multi, NSFW, Post S13 minus the Gabriel fuckery, Sex Pollen, Smut, Vaginal Sex, arguably Non-con, dark characters, dark themes, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 09:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_White_Rabbit42/pseuds/The_White_Rabbit42
Summary: The greatest trick the devil pulled was convincing the world there was only one of him.  (Heavily Gabriel x reader)





	The Last of Us

**Author's Note:**

> Part of Rabbit's Octoberfest on tumblr (Follow me at @thewhiterabbit42)

“ _ Hnnnng. _ ”

 

Perspiration slicks your skin, and if it were any other day, Gabriel would be more appreciative of the way your dress clings to your body, hugging every curve, and leaving little to the imagination.  

 

Any other day, your nerves wouldn’t be oversensitized to the point of pain, unable to stand anything other than the thin, airy fabric.  

 

He feels the heat pouring off your body even from several feet away.  A hellish shade of scarlet pools within your cheeks, diffusing down the length of your body, and it’s clear you’re on the cusp of combusting.  Or liquefying. The archangel can’t tell. From the frantic pace of his thoughts, he’s trying to avoid thinking too closely on what will happen if he fails. 

 

“I need you to focus,” he commands with the voice and presence of someone who knows what they’re doing.  Ever the trickster, he hasn’t a clue on how to fix this. Not magically, anyway. Lust spells are pretty straight forward in their cure, otherwise.    

 

Chuck has an idea, but he knows Gabriel won’t want to hear it.  Whatever the witch used is powerful. Brilliant. The mechanics of this elude even the father of Creation.  Blueprints for concepts like magic and human composition are one thing, but living, dynamic entities like spells can be beyond even him.  

 

You writhe against the strong arms locked around you, and you don’t notice how close your bad shoulder is to slipping out of joint.  The discomfort skitters around the edge of your mind, but there’s nothing for that pain to latch onto, not when everything in you is flooded with a different agony, one born of desperation and need.  Gabriel can sense this; a snarling, tangled mass of sensation that pulses out at increasingly short intervals, washing brain waves out of existence and snuffing out rational thought. 

 

“I know it hurts, sweetheart, but I need you to try.”   

 

Every cell, every atom, every molecule in your being stays focused on the figure in front of you as the one holding you at bay uses his powers to keep his presence off the radar.  

 

“ _ Focus _ .  What else did they use?”

 

Finally, your shoulder gives, a loud  _ pop  _ punctuating the feral noises resonating from you.  You slip free from Chuck’s grasp, lunging for the archangel, your arm dangling in a way that adds a touch of grotesque to the entire scene.  The Almighty blinks out of sight for a moment, reappearing just in time to catch you around the waist, and you let out a broken keen as he takes you down to the dingy motel carpet.  

 

“Gabriel, we don’t have much time.”  Chuck heals your shoulder, but, as with the last three times, it’s a bandage on an increasingly hemorrhaging wound.  

 

Soon, it won’t be the already defective parts of you that begin to break down.  

 

Your head snaps in his direction, awareness reinvigorated that there is  _ another. _  The Creator dampens his presence again, all but vanishing from sight, and your eyes give a confused blink.   

 

“Dammit, y/n, I need you to listen!” Gabriel snaps, his tone harsh, impatient, masking the fear that’s whirling within him.  He waits for you to look at him again. It only takes an instant, but there’s still nothing that registers other than the blinding drive to have, consume,  _ devour _ .  “What went into the spell?”

 

You hear his words.  You’ve heard everything he’s said, but the only language you currently recognize has lips and tongue moving in far different ways, and involves taste and touch as much as sound.  

 

He knows this.  He’s known this all along.  He’s hoped, however, and that hope is far more dangerous than he’ll ever realize.  It masquerades as strength when all it’s done is waste valuable time. 

 

You attempt to leap again, and just like every time prior, you hit the firm barrier of God’s grip. Something in you cracks and creaks, like slowly splintering wood.  Gabriel winces, a piece of  _ him  _ beginning to give as he’s forced to continue listening to you disintegrate bit by bit. 

 

“If you’re not strong enough to do this...”  Chuck leaves the implication hanging in the air.  The archangel is so human, sometimes. Waiting until the eleventh hour.  Stalling due to his own anxieties. Fighting the inevitable. Making things more complicated than they need to be.  

 

There’s a pregnant pause, a heavy sigh laden with knowledge.  He finally knows. He cannot save you. Not the way he wants. 

 

His hand rakes through the back of his hair, fingers tugging at strands, tangling perfection with his resigned frustration.  “Bring her back.” 

 

Chuck pulls you tight against him, his hand slipping down between your legs.  He cups your mound, releasing a jolt of energy that has your eyes rolling back in your head and a primal scream infused with satisfaction echoing through the small area. Whatever he does has a touch of the divine, bringing an ever shrinking eye and momentary clarity to the storm that’s trying to claim you. 

 

Your eyes flutter open and the world snaps back into view.  You’re on the floor. Everything is in flames. Every tendon.  Every piece of cartilage. Even your bones have turned to molten embers that contain that same, persistent sear.  

 

Gabriel gets down on his knees, lines of defeat etched into his features.  Gold becomes tarnished in a way that almost hurts as much as the magic in your veins.  “I’m sorry.”

 

“Not dead yet.”  You try to be optimistic, but you can’t quite avoid sounding like death warmed several times over.  A flurry of emotions swirl around your mind, but the thoughts that rise up out of the vortex are ironic, given the circumstances. 

 

_ Must be really fucked if Heaven’s finest can’t give me a hand. _

 

_ Actually, you’re about to be because they’re going to.   _

 

“... seriously?”  Gabriel’s not impressed, but Chuck is.  You’re the one with one foot in the afterlife, and your head’s on straighter than the archangel who’s had thousands of years to figure his out.  

 

_ He  _ knows in that moment, you’re not only going to live, but every one of you is exactly where you’re supposed to be, when you’re supposed to be there.  

 

“Caught that one, did you?”  You laugh, a breathless sound that infuses  _ something _ back into your face for the briefest moment.  

 

Fate.  Fortune.  Luck. Chance.  Whatever it is, it’s in that room, breathing down your necks, forcing you all to make a play. It croons, a quiet clarion call embedded so subtly he doubts either of you hear it.  The two of you  _ feel  _ it, however, beneath your skin, crawling across the archangel’s, and it hums so loudly in Chuck’s mind that he knows.   _ This is it.   _

 

“So which - who…” Gabriel rubs the back of his neck, unable to fully ask or make eye contact.  He wants. He  _ will _ .  Everything inside of him is clamoring, precariously hanging in the balance, because the thought of what happens next, or more accurately, what might happen  _ without  _ him is enough to send him into a tailspin it might take a decade or two to right.  

 

“From a, uh, purely practical standpoint, it would be easier--” Chuck begins, cut off by the grunt that slips past your lips as you double over.  You clutch at your stomach, dropping down onto your other hand that barely keeps your face from diving into the carpet. 

 

“ _ Faster _ ,” he amends, “ if we both...”  He catches the dangerous spark in Gabriel’s eyes as the archangel realizes what is being proposed. “…helped.”  

 

“Yeah,” you answer through clenched teeth, breathing your way through your discomfort.  “Both. Ok.” 

 

“What?” Gabriel is flabbergasted.  Conflicted. Protective, above all else.  He manages to outwardly shield you from this, but his wings flutter furiously, on the point of pulling through to this plane of their own volition.  “You don’t --”

 

“Have to do this?” You finish sharply.  “It’s a lust spell, Gabe. Kind of have to fuck my way through it.”  You don’t mean to be crass. It’s not just the pain fueling your irritation, or even the tidal wave of yearning entering the horizon.  In your world, when there’s a job to be done, you do it, and if you can’t, you give it to someone who can. “ _ You  _ don’t.”  

 

You purse your lips, tensing in preparation for that wave to slam back into shore.  “It’s ok if you can’t --  _ argh _ .”  Your teeth clench down hard, and the stitching to your being Chuck’s managed to sew back in place begins to unravel at an alarming rate.  

 

“You gonna let her die because you can’t tell her how much you want her?”  Chuck asks with deceptive calmness and slightly more snarkiness than the situation warrants.  His patience, however, has worn so thin there isn’t enough of it left to properly break. 

 

Gabriel panics, his stare widening with accusation as he looks up at the Almighty.  You, on the other hand, simply laugh. Fully. A touch hysterically. But you’re clearly tickled by the revelation.  

 

The sound suddenly morphs into a strained, wet cough, and while there’s not enough blood to spray up through your mouth yet, you can feel it bubbling within you, and they can hear every single alveolus that begins to drown.  

 

“We’re gonna… need a talk.  After.” Your eyes snap up, locking with his, and he can see the exact moment your head goes back under. 

 

“But I want an after.”  Your fingers pull into a fist, clenching at your dress.  “I want you to…you two…” Your stare goes blank for a moment before the storm sweeps in again.  “Need. I  _ need _ .”

 

“I know,” he murmurs, features pinching as he helps you up off the floor.  You sway a little before blindly following him as he moves backwards across the room, and it’s eerie how checked out and present you are at the same time.  You don’t even make it to the bed, and this time when you pounce, there’s no one there to stop you. 

 

He catches you, your legs immediately locking around him, and the force of your momentum has him stumbling.  He manages to stay on his feet, at least until the back of his legs find the mattress where he allows himself to drop.  A spray of buttons erupts from between your bodies, your hands desperate to find skin. His fingers slip into your hair, holding damp and tousled strands back from your face as he draws your mouth down to his.  

 

The moment your lips claim him, he’s slammed full force by whatever it is vibrating through your cells.  It’s staggering. All encompassing. The extra energy ignites across his grace, spiraling through it like a conductor before radiating off into the space around him.

 

Gabriel’s more certain than ever ambrosia exists, and it’s the taste of his tongue in your mouth, along your pulse, the sweat on your skin, and he can only imagine what it will be like to bury his head between your legs. 

 

Chuck inhales, the energy bursting across the front of him.  The layers to this spell are woven with intricate strands, basic urges spun into something far more complex than he can imagine.  It tempts. Twists. Calls to even him, though as the Creator he has the ultimate advantage over it. This night.  _ Everything _ .  

 

Gabriel struggles to keep his head above water, conscious thought suffocating beneath the siren song you’ve become.  By the time he comes up for air, you’ve already got his pants undone and are sinking down onto him. 

 

“Oh  _ fuck _ .”  

 

Chuck glides across the room, moving behind you.  His hands dance across your shoulders, creeping closer to the neckline of your dress.  “How’s she feel?”

 

Hot.  Amazing.  Tight. Better than the archangel imagined.  He can’t put any of this into words, can only dig his hands into your waist, holding you in place to savor the sensation as you frantically try to move.  

 

A dark chuckle breaks through your desperate whines. “I’d let her start riding you before things really start to heat up.”  

 

Chuck takes hold of your dress and yanks, splitting it down the center and affording your skin some much needed air.  His hands skim along your sides, sliding up to your breasts where he cups them. Where you are fire, he is ice, and the sensation alone from that and the archangel inside you almost sends you straight over the edge.  

 

He teases, fingertips tugging on already taut nubs, and the moment Gabriel finally allows you to start moving you’re falling over the precipice.  Your moan is echoed from his lips as your body clenches around him, and the strength of your orgasm transfers directly into both men as a portion of the magic sweeps out of you in a dizzying rush.  

 

Gabriel’s grip moves further down your hips, bouncing you as he thrusts up into you with an increasing need.  Chuck takes small tastes of your skin with God-like restraint, and you reach back for him, his presence acknowledged.  Your fingers wind through his hair, pulling him closer, and the archangel grunts as you tear your lips from his and offer them to the Almighty.  

 

Gabriel is right.  You taste like Heaven, and Chuck smiles.  

 

This is going to be better than he thought.  

 

*******

 

Chuck does his best to stay out of the way.  He doesn’t abstain. He was invited, after all, and he’s someone that’s used to taking what he wants.  So that’s exactly what he does, what he encourages Gabriel to do as well. 

 

It doesn’t take much convincing.  

 

It’s clear the archangel doesn’t want to leave you, that he would spend the rest of existence buried in you if he could.  There’s a part of him that still tracks the progress, an innate awareness that doesn’t register on conscious level. There’s a tension in him that builds as yours recedes, and you’re all he can think about.  All he can focus on. 

 

He relishes the way your legs wrap around him, and up against the wall becomes a quick favorite.  He can’t get enough of how it feels to have you cling to him, or the way your thighs tremble with your eagerness and exertion.  

 

He loves taking you from behind.  There’s just something about the way your hips snap back against his, the way your body arches, especially when he grabs your hair.  He’s also particularly fond of the sound your ass makes when he slaps it, and your high-pitched yelp that follows. 

 

What drives him wild, however, what he could spend days on end doing, is fucking you with your legs on his shoulders.  Chuck doesn’t blame him. You  _ do  _ make the best noises when he’s as deep as he can get.  The Almighty’s not convinced it isn’t also because it’s one of the more difficult setups for a second person to be involved.  

 

From every position, over every surface, there isn’t an inch of you unexplored by the time they sate the magic inside of you.  

 

When you finally drop to the mattress, a tangled mess of sweaty limbs, you can barely move.  Sleep is swift, aided by a little divine help to maximize the effects. Gabriel is wrapped around your back, refusing to relinquish ownership of you as his hand moves along your hip, down your thigh, and back up again before repeating the motion.  There’s something stirring in his mind, burrowing into his will where it trickles out in the way his eyes flick up toward Chuck at the end of the bed and back to you. 

 

The window of opportunity is rapidly shutting as honeyed hues churn less manically, edging closer to complacency and doubt.  There are ripples across the surface, however, when his attention strays back to you. If your breathing so much as changes his eyes snap to you, hand freezing and fingers digging into flesh, as if you might slip away from him at any moment.  

 

You finally stir, and the sensation of skin against skin, heat, touch, smell, floods his mind once again as you give a languid stretch.  Both beings can tell you’re sore but satisfied, a lazy smile drifting across your face. 

 

He throws his leg over yours, folding himself around you as he nuzzles the side of your neck.  He starts with gentle kisses just beneath your ear. Affection rapidly gives way to something different as he trails down along your pulse, tongue soothing over marks as he holds back his teeth from creating new ones.    

 

“What do you think about doing this again?” He purrs, his hand skimming over your stomach, pressing you back so the curve of your ass nestles deliciously against him.  

 

You wriggle a little, caught off guard by his ministrations, though not opposed to them.  “Sure. Why not. I should be able to pencil you in sometime next week when I’m able to walk again.”  There’s a dry note to your words, but mostly there’s just a deep-seated exhaustion. Your voice grows a little quieter as you grab the elephant in the room by its tusks.  “Thanks, by the way. For helping.”

 

Your hands reach out, an expectation of a second body causing your brow to furrow when your hands hit nothing but cold sheets.     

 

A dark chuckle rumbles through the archangel.  “Don’t thank us yet, sweetness.”

 

You mistake the goosebumps of awareness that prickle along your skin as a chill, too tired or perhaps too trusting for it to register.  “Cold,” you mumble, sighing as heat immediately flows over you in the form of his energy. You melt back against him, sleep starting to blanket your mind again.  

 

The other side of the bed dips down and you barely crack your eyes, letting them shut again when you see it’s just Chuck.  

 

“What’s that?”  You ask, noticing the large bowl in his hands.  You miss the runes etched subtly around the rim along with the new addition to the room; a table at the foot of the bed covered in the remnants of various ingredients. 

 

“This will get rid of that exhaustion you’re fighting, though it may come with some side effects.”  

 

You don’t respond, and the way your brain cells fire it’s like he’s spoken to you in another language, the gears of your mind grasping for understanding.  Gabriel, on the other hand, is lit up like the fourth of July, his grace an ever changing fluctuation of color dancing to its own unique tune. It’s fascinating, the change that’s already occured in such a short amount of time. 

 

His grace shifts, buzzing lightly before it slithers down between your legs.  You involuntarily jerk back against him as it circles your oversensitive clit, pulling a low whine from you.  Confusion lances through you as he rolls his hips against yours, his cock throbbing back to attention.

 

“She makes me so hungry,” he breathes.  

 

Chuck snickers.  “Good thing this will help with that, too.”  

 

You turn toward Gabriel and it’s his face more than anything that makes you uncertain.  It’s not exactly how archangels are supposed to look, but it’s closer than Chuck’s seen in a very long time.  

 

“...Gabe?”

 

“Just relax, sweetheart.”  His arm beneath you wraps tightly around your shoulders, his free hand trailing through the valley between your breasts before finding its way way into your hair.   “This will be over in a minute.” 

 

His fingers clench into a fist, and before you can respond, he jerks your head back just as Chuck’s palm clamps down over your nose and mouth.  It’s impressive how much you fight, how much strength you even have left. You squirm and twist and try to buck both their grips, but it’s futile against a being who can tear down entire civilizations with his bare hands and one that could snuff everything dark with just a thought.  

 

He doesn’t cut your air off longer than necessary.  He doesn’t want to hurt you, and this act alone triggers a war within Gabriel so fierce Chuck isn’t certain which side will win.  

 

“You  _ need _ her,” he reminds.  There’s a streak of defiance running through gold when it finally collides with blue, no different than the final burst of strength as your basic survival instincts kick into overdrive.   

 

“You need  _ this _ .” 

 

He brings the bowl closer, and your panic peaks as you catch sight of its contents.  You desperately pray to every angel you know, but he’s a step ahead of you, cutting off the correspondence before it can even leave your mind.   

 

“ _ Do it _ ,” he commands, and the archangel releases you before shoving your face into the pile of blood red powder.  You twist your head, trying to avoid it, unable to stop the reflexive gasp as air finally hits your lungs. You sputter, the noxious substance coating the inside of one nostril, and you already know it’s over by powerful burn that immediately engulfs your mind.

 

The flames you’d just worked so hard to extinguish begin to ignite again, and you briefly black out as it carves its own pathways between neurons, shutting down parts of you while others are given the power to work overtime.  

 

“You sure this won’t kill her?”  Gabriel asks, watching your body convulse as Chuck repeats the words to the spell.  

 

The Creator shrugs.  “Never used this before, but the first time turned out ok.”

 

The angel palms your waist, control fraying as he feels the pull of the magic beneath your skin. He watches as Chuck grabs you by the arms, eyes riveted to your body, as you’re head is dragged closer to the foot of the bed.   

 

When he speaks again, he sounds distant, distracted. “Yeah, well, the witch probably knew what  _ she _ was doing.”  

 

_ Oh God _ .  Your brain comes back online, eyes wide with fear.  It’s too much. He’s given you too much, and this time you’re going to die.    

 

“You might be right,” Chuck acknowledges, but his words are hollow, devoid of any sentiment. “Fortunately for you, I  _ am  _ God, and I can fix any complications, death included.  Though I imagine  _ that  _ particular side effect would be quite excruciating, given what almost happened last time.”

 

Gabriel crawls between your legs, his hands running up the back of your calves.  He lifts, hooking your knees over his shoulders before his mouth finds the inside of a thigh and begins to nibble.  Ravenous teeth and lips have your hips arching up off the mattress, and it never occurs to you to refuse him. 

 

Chuck caresses the side of your face as your thoughts slur muzzy, but you still managed to push a single word past your lips before they became useless for communicating thought.  “...why?”

 

An eerie smile stretches across his face, as proud as it is vacant of any qualities that have made him seem more human.  “The greatest trick the devil pulled was convincing the world there was only one of him.” 

 

You gasp, though it has more to do with how the archangel’s mouth has found that sensitive nexus of nerves again, and how intensely your core already throbs for him.   

 

It’s almost blasphemous, how insignificant Chuck’s presence and words become, but as  _ you  _ come with your legs locked around Gabriel’s head, the angel’s grace immediately absorbing the magic that rushes out of you, evolving with it, the Almighty is reminded of what’s important.  

 

“There’s a reason he was my favorite, you know,” he continued, his thumb tracing along your lower lip before gaining access to your mouth.  You eagerly suck on his finger, tongue swirling obscenely around it. “He’s the only one that came out  _ right. _ ”  

 

His gaze drifts over, watching the archangel climb up the length of you again.  “Michael was too dutiful. Raphael, too passive. Gabriel, too  _ soft _ .”  He shakes his head as if  _ that  _ is the most disappointing quality of them all.

 

Neither you nor the angel notice.  In one swift movement, Gabriel sinks back into you, your moans vibrating against Chuck’s skin.  He draws his hand back, fingers patronizingly petting your head, much like he would a cat. 

 

“There was no way I was going to ride out existence being the last of us.  The strong. The worthy. The ones capable of surviving, of doing what needs to be done _. _ ”  He crouches down, and there’s an undercurrent of respect running beneath his words.  “Just like you.” He presses his lips against your cheek, tongue flicking out to take a taste of the tantalizing energy pulsing chaotically from the spell.    

 

“I didn’t really care what Lucifer did to Adam and Eve, or even Lilith.  It was just a testament to how cunning a visionary he was. No, his downfall was his jealousy, his disobedience. He never could be satisfied.  Gabriel though, has far simpler aspirations.”

 

It’s obvious what those ambitions entail as the archangel hooks one of your legs up around his waist.  Your hips raise up off the mattress to meet his steady thrusts, body writhing as he turns his attention to one of your breasts.  

 

“And once you help me finish corrupting his grace, then the real fun will begin.”

 

Chucks fingers tweak a lonely nipple, tugging and rolling it, enjoying the thrill that races through him, and the menacing growl it draws from Gabriel.   

 

“But I’m getting ahead of myself.  We should probably focus on all the fun we’re going to have getting there.”

 

He steps back, holding off from touching you anymore.  There is danger here, even for him. Besides, there would be plenty of time for that later, when the bulk of the spell has run its course, and the archangel became a little more agreeable.  

 

There’s a curious trickle that reaches his ear, adding another harmony to the chorus of pain that sings almost as strongly as your need.  He searches for the source, finding a slow trail of blood oozing from the side of the nose that had taken in the dust. 

 

“We’ll find a better way to do this,” he promises, pushing his energy beneath your skin in an short, healing wave.  He pauses, his magic changing its intent as it encounters something unexpected. 

 

His eyes narrow on you, a clear warning whispering beneath his words.  “But until then, I suggest you be a good girl and stop fighting this. That is, if you want your body to survive the next few rounds.”


End file.
